


Dave: Be The Match ==>

by arsenicPopsicle (fortuitousOdyssey)



Category: Homestuck
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-22
Updated: 2011-05-22
Packaged: 2017-10-19 17:04:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/203147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fortuitousOdyssey/pseuds/arsenicPopsicle





	Dave: Be The Match ==>

Dave: Be The Match ==>

 

Be John Egbert ==>

 

You are John Egbert, and you are four years old. You've always been kind of a sickly kid, and never one to want to go outside and play much. The other kids, even the girls, like to pick on you and push you around, so your Dad is pretty okay with you staying in and watching cartoons. He likes to bake you cakes, and you are totally okay with that, because cake is delicious; none of the other kids get to have a big slice of cake in their lunchbox every day.

 

Today is kind of a weird day, though. You went yesterday for your monthly checkup with the doctor, and he took Dad out of the room for a while. When they came back in, Dad looked upset at first, but then he smiled and the doctor gave you a sucker, so you figured that everything was okay. But today Dad is taking you to the hospital.

 

You've only ever been to the hospital once before, when you fell into the coffee table in the living room and split your lip. You were bleeding everywhere, and it was really scary. The nurses kept trying to give you this medicine that was really nasty, so you spat it back out. After you did that a few times, they put a weird towel over your mouth so you couldn't spit it out, and then you fell asleep for a while. When you woke back up you had weird green stitches in your lip, and Dad seemed upset and kind of scared, which made you even more scared. You hope this visit won't be like that, but you're already scared and you don't even know why you're there.

 

Dad talks to the lady at the front desk for a while and signs some papers, then you sit in the waiting room for a really long time. You try to ask him what's going on, but he just shushes you and gets a picture book out of his Wallet for you to look at. After a while, a lady comes in with a man and a nurse, and she's crying. They sit in the corner of the room for the rest of the time you're in there, and it makes you feel like crying, too.

 

Eventually a nurse comes to get you, and takes you to see a doctor. He's very nice and friendly, and it makes you feel a whole lot better about everything. He tells you that he's got to poke you with a needle and take some of your blood so that some scientist!doctors at a fancy lab can look at it and make sure that you're healthy. This really excites you, because you want to be a scientist when you grow up, because they get to wear cool labcoats, so you tell him that it's okay. You're a big boy, and you can take a little needle poke.

 

He shows you the needle, explains how it works, and tells you that it's called a 'hypodermic' needle; you store this new word in your brain for later recall. When you're ready, he swabs your arm with some clear stuff that smells really bad and it's really cold, and then he pokes you with the needle. You jump just a little bit, but it's not really that bad. Just a pinch, like he said. You watch in awe as the clear part of the needle fills up with your blood. Afterward you feel a little dizzy and the doctor gives you a cookie. You really like him. When you and Dad leave, you tell him that you should go back and visit that doctor sometime. He smiles, but it doesn't look like a real smile; it looks kind of sad. He says that you'll probably be seeing him a lot soon.

 

A few weeks later you go back to the hospital. The doctor is still really nice to you, he even hugs you and gives you some candy before he takes Dad out of the room to talk to him. When they come back, after what feels like forever, Dad picks you up and gives you a hug. He tells you that you're sick, but that it's okay, you're just going to have to take some medicine every day for a while. You laugh and tell him that that's okay, you have to do that anyway, you're always a little sick. He smiles that not-quite-smile again and tells you that he knows.

 

A FEW YEARS LATER, BUT NOT MANY:

 

You are John Egbert, and you are ten years old. You're really into video games and you really like watching CSI. Your Dad is a little iffy on letting you watch stuff like that, but you really want to be a forensic scientist when you grow up, and he usually lets you get away with whatever you want, so he eventually relented.

 

Since you've grown up a bit, you've started to do some research on the disease the nice doctor diagnosed you with when you were little (because awesome scientists do stuff like that, you know?). It's called Chronic Granulomatous Disease, and you've been on antibiotics and antifungals to treat it for a long time.

 

You're at the hospital for your usual monthly checkup with the nice doctor (his name is actually Dr. Ballantine) and he tries to pull Dad out of the room for another talk. You hold up a hand to stop them.

 

“I'm not a little kid anymore, you don't hafta run off just to talk about me. If there's something new wrong with me, I'd rather you just tell me to my face.”

 

Dr. Ballantine gives Dad a look, and Dad nods. He knows you're a big kid, and you already know a lot about what's wrong with you. The doctor shrugs and turns his chair so he can face you. “Well, sport, one of the medicines we're giving you-”

 

“The antibiotic or the antifungal?” you interrupt.

 

“The antifungal, Itraconazole, is doing some bad stuff to your liver. We can't take you off of it completely, because you need it, so we're trying to figure out what we can do instead. One of the other doctors I work with suggested we get you a bone marrow transplant, but there's a long wait for that. And, on top of that, the kind of blood you have is really uncommon, so it'll be hard to find someone that can donate for you. We would have to keep you on the Itraconazole until we got you the transplant.”

 

“Okay, so do that. I don't see what the problem is.”

 

“Well, it could be a long time before we can get you the transplant, and we don't know what the Itraconazole might do to your liver in the meantime.”

 

“Well, we can't do anything else, right? So just do that and hope for the best, I guess! I'll be okay, don't worry,” you say, mostly to reassure Dad, who is looking very worried. He smiles at you, and you think he's proud of you for being such a tough kid.

 

The doctor has you put on the waiting list for a bone marrow transplant, and warns you again that it could take a long time, especially since your case isn't considered urgent. He does, however, commend you on being so brave and he gives you a hug. You laugh and assure him that everything's going to be just fine.

 

John: Be Dave Strider ==>

 

You are Dave Strider, and you are eleven years old. Right now, you're with your Bro at the blood donation center. Bro has always raised you to be really tough, cool and ironic, and it took you a long time to see the irony in giving blood and donating to charity and shit, like you guys always do. Eventually you realized that it's not ironic at all, it's just cool. It's cool to do shit for people who need you, because being a huge douchebag just makes you a huge douchebag; real cool guys help out without making a big deal of it.

 

While you're waiting for Bro to finish donating blood (and plasma this time, too), since you're too young to donate yourself, you look slowly around the donation center. There's a small stand with some fliers on it set up in a corner, which isn't usually there, so you get up to investigate.

 

You pick up one of the fliers, and the heading at the top says “Be The Match!” You read on, and it's from an organization that has a registry of bone marrow donors, looking to have more potential donors added to the list. Bro comes up behind you suddenly, as per his usual, and leans over your shoulder to see what you're looking at. You ask him if you can sign up, and he says “yeah, sure, whatever.”

 

A while later you're giving a blood sample to one of the donation center employees to be sent in to the bone marrow registry so that they know your blood type. You get a letter from them later that week thanking you and telling you that you actually have a really rare blood type, so it's really good that you signed up to donate. Bro hasn't said anything, but you know he's kind of proud of you. You're kind of proud of yourself.

 

A FEW YEARS LATER, BUT NOT MANY:

 

You are Dave Strider, and you are fourteen years old. It's the weekend, so you're off from school for the day, sitting in the living room with a bowl of cereal and watching Saturday morning cartoons. It's not cool or ironic, but Bro lets you get away with it every now and then. As a matter of fact, Bro's home for the weekend for once instead of working one of his two jobs, and he's sitting beside you on the couch and pretending not to be just as engrossed in this episode of Static Shock as you are.

 

You're both surprised when the phone rings.

 

Bro answers. “Strider residence.” He quirks an eyebrow and says “yeah, sure, whatever,” before handing the cordless phone over to you. You hesitate for a moment, confused, before holding the phone to your ear.

 

“Hello?” you ask, your voice flat and monotone, an extension of your poker face. The voice on the other line asks if this is David Strider speaking, and you say yeah, but ask her to call you Dave. She says she works with Be The Match and the National Marrow Donor Program and asks if you remember signing up to be a donor. “Yeah, I remember,” you reply evenly. She tells you that someone with your very uncommon blood type (AB-) has come up in the waiting list for a marrow transplant and asks if you would be okay with donating for him. She says that you would have to fly up to Washington and that you would probably miss a couple weeks of school, and is that okay with you and your guardian.

 

You've had your eyes closed while you listened to her, taking in all the information, but now you look over at Bro. “Yo, you cool with me missing school to donate blood marrow outta state?”

 

“Yeah,” he says simply, turning his attention back to the television. “Whatever.”

 

“He says it's cool. What do I have to do?”

 

Dave: Be John Egbert =>

 

You are John Egbert, and you are thirteen years old. You're currently in a hospital bed with all sorts of tubes and machines hooked up to you. Being a scientist, you would think that something like this would be fun for you, but you hate it. You hate the beeping and the whirring and the dripping and the restriction and the nurses and doctors coming in and out and the shitty food and you just want to go home.

 

You're still on both your medications, but on much lower doses because they're both deteriorating your liver now. They've got you on even more medicine to try and keep your liver from failing before you can get your transplant, and Dr. Ballantine says that your liver problems move you further up the list for a marrow transplant, so things aren't looking totally grim.

 

You're talking to your Dad about some video game that you're looking forward to that's supposed to be released next year when Dr. Ballantine comes in to see you; he's smiling.

 

“I've got good news, John.”

 

“Well, duh, of course you do. You always have something good to say when you come in Dr. Ballantine,” you chirp happily. Seeing Dr. B always cheers you up, because he's such a nice guy. “So, let's hear it.”

 

“The NMDP has found you a matching donor! He's flying up this week to do the transplant!”

 

“Wow, really? That's really awesome, Dr. B! Thanks so much!”

 

“Don't thank me, thank your donor when he gets here. His name is Dave, and he's about your age. You must be so excited.”

 

“Oh, he's a kid? That's so cool! Maybe we'll be friends! Do you think we'll be friends, Dad?”

 

“If he's that young and willing to be a bone marrow donor, then he must be a very nice boy. I'm sure the two of you will be wonderful friends, John,” your Dad replies.

 

A FEW DAYS LATER, BUT NOT MANY:

 

You are John Egbert, and you are sitting in a wheelchair in the hospital waiting room, wearing one of those horrible hospital dress things, and you are mortified. How can they expect you to meet this guy dressed like this? You are so nervous it is not even remotely funny, and you know a thing or two about funny.

 

Your Dad is standing behind your wheelchair when Dr. Ballantine brings Dave in. You gape openly at him as you try to take in everything about him at once. He's tall, you notice, and really blonde and he's got big, pointy, dark shades hiding his eyes. He's also wearing a really awesome red shirt with a record on it, and you wonder where he got it.

 

He gives you a long look (or, at least, you think he's looking at you, but who knows with those shades) before raising a hand to you in greeting. “Yo,” he says coolly.

 

You give him a huge, goofy grin and wave enthusiastically. “Hi! My name's John Egbert and I'm really really really REALLY excited to meet you!” you gush.

 

He just shakes his head and scoffs a little. “Gog, you're such a derp,” he says; your face falls because you think you've made a fool of yourself. Actually, you're pretty sure you've made a fool of yourself.

 

You look down at your lap and you can feel the stare of disapproval Dad is giving the guy, and you want to tell him to stop because, really, it's your fault. You are a derp. Then, suddenly, Dave is right by your chair and his hand is on your shoulder.

 

“Hey, it's cool. Derpiness isn't necessarily a bad thing.”

 

“I-I, uh...” you stammer as you look up at him. And, holy, crap, his face is like right there and you can feel your face heat up as you blush and good Gog you feel like such a huge derp.

 

“There anything remotely cool to do around this joint?” he asks.

 

“Uh-uhm, there's some pretty cool videogames in the kid's wing...” you say. “And, like, some stuff to draw with.”

 

“I guess that's cool,” he says. “Lead the way, Egderp.”

 

You look up at Dad and his mouth is set into a line, so you can definitely tell he does not approve of your new nickname. You give him a sheepish little smile, and he seems to relax. “Alright boys, the children's wing it is,” he says before grabbing the handles of your chair and puching you back the way you came. Dave walks along with you, about even with your elbow, with his hands in his pockets.


End file.
